


So Afraid

by smallredboy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Coming Out, Divorce, Married Couple, discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Martha asks George why doesn't he ever want to have sex with her.





	So Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> a little backstory for this AU! it's quite planned out in my head, so you'll see more from it soon, promise. most of this is set in mid to late 2012, george being 42 and martha being 43. this AU is primarily whamilton, but alex isn't in the picture yet.
> 
> enjoy!

“Do you wanna have sex?” Martha asks softly, sprawled over George’s lap. She’s quite a tiny woman in terms of height — she’s heavy and with soft features and a big tummy. George thinks in an alternate universe, he’d really be in love with her.

But he isn’t, and he can’t, so he pushes those thoughts away. All he can do is keep pretending, but if he has sex with her one more time he’ll get sick. It feels all bad-wrong whenever he does, like he’s doing Martha a disservice, like she can read right through his lies. Whenever they do, he tries to filter everything out — focus on the carnal feeling and ignore the fact of where his pleasure comes from. Focus on pleasuring her and not on his fantasies.

“Not in the mood,” he replies softly, tangling his hand on her hair. It’s an all too careful touch, too gentle — her hair is kinky, curly, down to her shoulders. She always takes good care of it; he’d love that about her in a different universe.

Martha is herself, and he’d like it — he likes it, really. Just not in the way he should, and it eats at him. The guilt and the self-blame and the wish to say something are always there. Every time he whispers I love you it’s like lying — she’s a strong, beautiful woman, and she’s amazing, but he doesn’t love her like he should.

She lets out a sigh and sits up to sit on his lap. Her smile is adoring, but her eyes aren’t shining.

He can only hold her, kiss her, even as much as it makes his guts twist.

He has to keep pretending, keep it in check, keep his truth in check. If he lets it out, it could go out — he couldn’t deal with the news of Senator George Washington being this going out. He can’t even say it, can’t even whisper it — can’t even think it.

It tastes dirty in his mouth, and he knows he can’t tell a soul.

* * *

George has just taken an all too long shower when Martha approaches him. He wraps a towel around his waist and walks to their bedroom. It’s huge and comfortable, their bed all too big for two people. Martha is still in her work clothes; lab coat and gray pants under it. She looks good, as always, but something about her eyes tells George she isn’t too happy.

George puts some boxers on and a t-shirt that hangs a little loose around his frame, as he’s been losing weight. He laces his fingers with his wife’s and looks at her with a smile. Her look of seriousness and thoughtfulness doesn’t dissipate.

“Why don’t you ever want to have sex with me?”

He draws in a breath at the question. He’s aware it would come up eventually, and with how long it’s been — he should’ve expected this. It still steals the air off his lungs. He doesn’t want to admit it, can’t bring himself to say it. 

“I just don’t want to,” he replies, squeezing Martha’s hand.

“But why? Just tell me, just be honest —”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts her off.   
  
She looks even more indignant and upset at him interrupting her. She doubts, stumbles upon her words, before saying, “Are you cheating on me?”   
  
“What? No!” His eyes snap open wide at the accusation. He might have desires he’s aware Martha would never fill, but he can’t bring himself to hurt her like that. Not a few years back, not now, not  _ ever _ . She’s not the object of his desires, but she’s his closest friend, and he wouldn’t betray her like that.   
  
She presses, “Then  _ why _ ?”   
  
“It doesn’t matter, Martha.”   


“George,” she starts, her voice clearly desperate and high with tears, “we’ve been married for three years and we’ve only had sex our wedding night and on a few weekends.” She clears her throat, takes his hands on hers and makes eye contact with him. There’s tears filling her eyes, and George’s heart breaks. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, voice getting a little quieter.    


Martha withdraws her hands, and he bites his lip. “George —”

“There’s nothing going on.”   


“ _ George _ .”   


He looks down at his own lap. He can’t even begin to articulate it. “Leave it alone, Martha.”   


“Am I gross? Am I just not sexually appealing?”   
  
He’s tempted to reply with  _ I don’t find any woman sexually appealing _ , but he doesn’t. “Martha —”

“Is that it?”

“That’s not it.”   


She huffs, and a tear slips down her cheek. She looks so desperate for an answer, and George makes circles in his mind. Wondering if it’s worth it, if it’s worth it to ruin his already shaky marriage, to seek divorce for this. Rumors will abound — he’s a popular politician, of course they will.

“Then  _ what  _ is it?”

His voice raises more than he planned it to, “ _ I’m gay _ !” He immediately curls his fingers into the covers, and he takes a deep breath. He can’t bring himself to look at Martha. “I’m gay and I realized it on our wedding night.”

After a few torturous seconds of silence, George looks up. Martha’s eyes are wide, the tear down her cheek dry, and her hand is over her mouth. He represses all he could say —  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry I lied to you, I’m sorry. _

All he’s got is apologies, and he knows that’s not what either of them needs.

Martha drops her hand and looks at him with still wide eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

She probably knows he isn’t kidding. He still concedes; “No, I’m not kidding.”   


“How’d you realize so late?” she asks softly, confusion in her eyes.

He bites the inside of his cheek and shrugs. “Internalized homophobia is a devil to deal with.”

Martha draws in a breath and drums her fingers against her leg. She looks more exhausted than ever, even when she came back from work after patients slipped through her fingers. “Now it makes sense that you only looked for a wife when you were thirty-nine.”   


“I didn’t know the explanation at the time,” he says. He looks down at his own lap, knowing he can’t tell her the whole story. She’s his wife of three years, but he can’t help but bring walls all over himself. He can’t bring himself to be completely honest. “I just thought I was too focused on… everything else to be interested in women.”   


“And then our wedding night happened.”

“It wasn’t the first time I had sex with a woman, not at all,” he tells her, shaking his head. “I was just — I didn’t feel a thing. My mind started wandering towards one of my acquaintances while I was… with you,” he says, giving her an apologetic glance. Martha smiles briefly at him, shaking her head. “And everything… suddenly made sense.”

Martha offers him her hand; he gladly takes it. She squeezes his hand and smiles at him. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me, George.”   


“I didn’t want — I  _ don’t _ want the negative attention that would come to me and my career if we decided to get a divorce over me being gay.”

“George, you know you aren’t happy in this situation,” she tells him, looking at him with a soft, exasperated smile. It’s a smile that’s so like her, like the woman George thought he loved. “And I’m not really happy in this situation, either. Dozens upon dozens of politicians get divorced from their wives — you aren’t hurting any odds of yours.”   


“As long as the why doesn’t go out…”

She sobers up a little and nods. “As long as the why doesn’t go out. We can always pretend we just aren't compatible anymore.”

He draws in a shaky sigh and squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we can always pretend that much.”

Martha pulls her hand away and drums her fingers against her thigh. “I didn't expect this explanation at all. I thought you were cheating on me.”

“I could never break your trust like that.”

She grins at him, tilting her head. “I know.”

George leans in to hug her.

It’s sweet, and Martha smiles a little afterward. She cups George’s cheek. “Imagine if you won the presidential race,” she says softly.

He laughs. “First gay president, second black president,” he says, grinning. “That’d be a whole lot to deal with.”   


“It would.”

They stay in silence for a few minutes, just looking at each other. They’re both smiling, and Martha’s eyes shine with an understanding he can’t quite place, can’t quite define. 

“Thank you for these three years,” she tells him. “Even without sex, they were amazing.”   


He laughs, leans against her, and decides he can live with everything that’s about to change.

* * *

Martha comes back home later than usual, doctors’ coat off her shoulders and on her hands. She hangs it and goes to sit on the couch, her hands with a bunch of papers on them. She fidgets with them, looking through them as George watches the news. Something or other about a murder, nothing unusual. He puts the TV remote down, not before changing the channel.

“Are those the divorce papers?” he asks, putting an arm around Martha’s shoulders.

She stiffens a little, and nods.

“Can you hand me them?”

She takes a breath and does. He looks through them absentmindedly, nothing he doesn’t know about, and hums in interest. There’s a bit for reasons, which Martha has already written as ‘irreconcilable differences’. 

He lets out a dry chuckle.

“What’s funny?” she asks, brows furrowed.

“Irreconcilable differences,” he says, pointing vaguely at the paper.

Martha’s eyes light up, and she chuckles as well. “Yeah, I thought it was what’s most appropriate. Irreconcilable differences because you’re gay and I’m bi and you shouldn’t be married to a woman.”   


Martha says it so casually, he doesn’t process it at first. He blinks and looks at her incredulously; she’s got a shit-eating grin on. 

“You’re bi?” he asks.

She laughs and bumps foreheads with him. “Yep,” she says, smiling wide.

“So _that’s_ where your weird understanding came from,” he can’t help but mumble.

She laughs, throws her head back, her smile all toothy. “Yep, that’s where my understanding came from.”

George smiles at her and tangles his hand on her hair. “Let’s get these papers done with, then, Martha.”


End file.
